Captive Heart (4 page)

Mylan frowned as he reached out to touch her silken curls. “You are very young, little more than a child, but how can you think me handsome?”

Celiese moved closer, turning so the light fell fully across his face. The scar that crossed his left cheek was a slight flaw in her opinion, but she was no stranger to the pain that filled his level gaze. She reached up to touch his cheek lightly, her fingertips tracing the thin scar with a delicate caress. “Your features are perfect, as finely carved as the most proficient sculptor could fashion, your coloring so unusual and attractive, why would this small scar disturb you so greatly?”

Mylan stepped back into the shadows as he drew his tunic over his head and then tossed it aside as he moved back into the light so she could see him clearly. The skin of his broad chest was horribly scarred, as if he’d been flayed alive by some vicious giant who had lost interest in mid-task and pressed his victim’s flesh back into place with no effort to make the pieces fit properly.

Celiese swallowed the painful lump that filled her throat and tried to smile but could not. “You must be very brave to have survived such a painful ordeal, Mylan, and surely courage and spirit are far more important qualities in a man than mere physical beauty.”

“This is not the worst of it.” Mylan brushed her sweet comments aside rudely as he gestured impatiently to the grotesque ridges that crisscrossed his torso. “My right leg looks no better, the short distance I can walk I cannot traverse without limping badly, I still tire much too easily and—”

Celiese stepped into his arms and lifted her fingertips to his lips to silence his confessions. “Scars matter so little to me, and you will recover your strength in time. If you do not want me, please speak the truth now, but do not wait for me to refuse you, for I will not do it.”

Mylan stepped back, confused by the ready acceptance by the lovely creature before him. Her hair shimmered in the sunlight with a sparkle that nearly blinded him, but her large green eyes were cool, her open appraisal of him as curious as a child’s. There was not the slightest trace of fear in her sweet expression, only a quiet anticipation, not the revulsion he’d come to expect from a woman. Why was she so different, her perceptions so acute? “How old are you, Olgrethe?”

Celiese smiled shyly. “I am seventeen. I hope you will not think that too advanced an age for your bride.”

Mylan’s troubled expression broke into an easy grin as he laughed at her teasing. Her unexpected humor amused him greatly, and his spirits rose to match hers; “I thought you would be spoiled, Olgrethe, the only daughter of a man I’ve been taught all my life to despise. I thought you would be eager for any excuse to avoid our marriage, for I was certain you would hate me, if not for who I am, then for what I have become.”

“And what is that, Mylan? You will have to explain what you mean, for I see only a man, and a most handsome and brave one.” Celiese was amazed at how simple a matter it was for her to converse with him. She had hoped only to find a place in which to live as a free woman, a refuge from the lusts of Raktor and his brutish sons, a home she had been willing to share with any man. But the one who stood so proudly before her was not only attractive, but pleasant and bright. Far too bright, she realized with sudden sorrow, for the deception she would have to attempt later that night. With considerable effort she forced that frightening prospect from her mind and looked up at him, her head tilted at the saucy angle that was Olgrethe’s favorite pose. “Well, will you not respond? Have you decided to send me home or make me your wife?”

Mylan frowned thoughtfully, then leaned back against the chair he’d used for support and folded his well muscled arms over his bare chest. “I am still considering the matter. Turn around so I might have a better look at you.” He regarded her critically, looking her up and down slowly, assessing her fair beauty with a practiced eye as she turned, then taking her small hand in his he sat down in the oversized chair and pulled her down across his lap.

“Mylan!” Celiese was appalled by his impertinence but found her struggle to rise swiftly ended as his arms encircled her waist with the force of steel bonds. “Is this your answer?” Her lips were a few scant inches from his as she spoke, and, although she tried to lift her gaze to his, she found the curve of his enchanting grin irresistible. When he raised his hand to the nape of her neck to draw her near she made no effort to fight him but relaxed in his arms, a willing prisoner in his strong embrace as his mouth brushed hers with the lightest of touches before lingering in a far more demanding kiss. She had not expected such tenderness from a Viking and drew back, her cheeks flooding with color as she did so.

Mylan chuckled as her pretty blush deepened, “I think your beauty surpasses even Raktor’s boasts, for your face and figure are perfection, and you seem to possess wisdom far beyond your years, Olgrethe, but has no one taught you how a man likes to be kissed?”

Celiese looked away. She hoped he was teasing her, but the images that flooded her mind were horrible indeed, and she had no intention of telling him just how much she’d been taught nor how brutal the lessons had been. Raktor had never permitted any man to be alone with Olgrethe, nor had that young woman ever longed to be kissed, and, taking that knowledge as her cue, she replied softly, “Raktor is very strict, Mylan, he would not allow such a thing.”

Mylan wound his fingers in Celiese’s thick curls to force her gaze up to his. “You call your sire by his name, is he so formidable a man you dare not call him father?”

Too late Celiese realized her mistake, but she could not bring herself to call the hateful villain, Raktor Torgvald, father. “I call him by many names, but he is a most worthy adversary, and I do not take his commands lightly.”

“Is that meant as a warning?” Mylan’s golden eyes narrowed to vicious slits. “If you find me to be less than you had hoped as a husband, can I expect Raktor to punish me for my faults? Must I live only to please you or suffer the consequences at his hands?”

Celiese gasped in pain as Mylan tightened his grasp upon her, but gave no thought to begging him to release her. The last person in whom she’d ever confide would be Raktor, no matter what sort of husband Mylan proved to be. “No, you are mistaken, I issued no threat. I have left the house of the Torgvalds and will make my life with you, and you need never fear you will suffer any pain for accepting me as your wife.” Yet as she spoke those words she knew she could not honestly give such a promise. Her very presence in his home was a lie, and she had scant hopes she could win his love when their marriage was based on so great a deception. As tears filled her eyes she tried unsuccessfully to hide them. “If you do not want me, Mylan, please say so now, it would be far better for both of us if you did not hide your doubts behind excuses.” Celiese knew she had failed to please him, and she cared little what reason he gave to Raktor for refusing her.

Mylan’s gaze grew puzzled. The young woman who sat perched so calmly upon his left knee was the most perplexing creature he’d ever met. He stroked her soft haze of silver hair lightly as he tried to consider which was the wisest course to take, but he found her stunning beauty a serious distraction to any coherent contemplation. She had the sweet, trusting heart of a child, and he’d hurt her. She had been willing to accept him, in spite of the grotesque horror his badly torn body presented, and he had been most ungracious. He had no fear of Raktor, surely the man’s bellow was no more than the howl of the north wind, annoying but doing no real damage. He chuckled to himself then. What punishment could Raktor inflict to equal what he’d already suffered? He lifted his hand to tilt the lovely girl’s chin and spoke softly as he leaned forward. “Kiss me like this, Olgrethe, open your lips.”

Celiese obeyed Mylan hesitantly, not knowing what to expect as he drew her near. The expanse of his chest was warm to her cool breast and she rested her hands lightly upon his broad shoulders to steady herself. His kiss was light, as gentle as before, but as his tongue passed between her lips she grew frightened and drew away. “Please, please don’t.” Her heart was pounding so wildly in her ears she could scarcely think, and although she saw his lips move she could not make out Mylan’s words. He appeared to have nothing in common with the Torgvalds, but as his arms tightened around her she was terrified, desperately afraid of the affection he seemed determined to give despite her reluctance to accept it. When the door flew open Mylan relaxed his hold for a moment as he turned to look over his shoulder, and Celiese seized that opportunity to leap to her feet and back away.

Aldred Vandahl laughed heartily at the intimate scene before him. “I do not have to ask what you have decided, Mylan. It has been far too long since I’ve seen a beautiful woman in your arms, but can you not wait until Olgrethe is your wife?” He crossed the small chamber swiftly, and taking the young woman’s trembling hand firmly in his turned toward the door. “Come, child, you must dress. Raktor will accept no excuse for postponing the ceremony beyond the agreed upon hour, as indeed, neither will I.”

Celiese glanced back at Mylan and was shocked by his furious stare, but whether his anger was directed at her or his father she could not tell, and she clung tightly to Aldred’s hand as she was swept through the door and out into the hall where Thulyn stood ready to assist her.

Chapter Three

“Come, Olgrethe, your bath is waiting, and I fear it will grow cold.” The friendly woman led Celiese up a short flight of stairs into a small, well-lit chamber. “Here is your trunk. The silk of your gowns is exquisite, but then, Raktor is very rich, is he not?”

Celiese nodded as she began to remove the jewelry the man had provided that morning. “Is Aldred not also? The fabric of your dress is as sheer as any of mine.”

Thulyn smiled, pleased by the young woman who would become her son’s bride. “You are bright, Olgrethe. I did not expect such a daughter from Raktor, yet you possess both grace and spirit. I pray you will give Mylan many sons.”

Celiese paled noticeably at that remark and turned toward the steaming tub that had been prepared for her use. “Thank you. I am happy if I have pleased you.”

Seeing the pretty young woman’s discomfort, Thulyn was afraid she had offended her, but she misunderstood the cause. “Olgrethe, I know your mother is long dead, but you do understand the love between a man and a woman, do you not? I will try and explain, if you lack all such knowledge.”

Celiese pinned up her hair so as not to dampen her long curls, using that activity to delay making a response while she considered how best to reply to that question. Thulyn seemed so sincere in her inquiry, so eager to offer advice, and she turned slowly, a demure expression gracing her lovely features. “I understand the act, but not how to accomplish it. I am most dreadfully ignorant of the ways to give a man the greatest pleasure. Is there not something you could teach me so I may please your son?”

Thulyn smiled graciously, happy to have won her future daughter-in-law’s confidence. “I am certain Mylan is pleased with you already. Your beauty would delight any man, and he will be a far better teacher than I could ever be. Now step into your bath before the water loses its warmth.”

Celiese smiled shyly, certain she’d convinced the charming woman of her innocence. She tossed her new green dress aside with the carelessness Olgrethe had always shown and sank down into the waiting tub. The heated water enveloped her in a delicious warmth, and she had no desire to hurry. The longer she remained soaking contentedly, the more time Raktor would have to fill Mylan with drink, which she desperately needed him to be. The truth of that thought saddened her greatly, for she had liked the golden-eyed young man from the first moment they’d met, and she was more frightened than she cared to admit that she would not be able to fool him so easily as she had his mother. But what if she did? There was not only her wedding night to survive, but the rest of her life, as well.

“Why, Olgrethe, you’ve no need to weep.” Thulyn stepped closer, her voice filled with sympathetic concern.

“No, I am not crying.” Celiese splashed her face with the warm water until her tears were lost from the perceptive woman’s gaze.

Not convinced by that denial, Thulyn persisted in trying to reassure her, “Please, Mylan is such a fine man, he will never mistreat you. Do not be afraid of him, nor of what your life will be here, for it will be as pleasant as the one you’ve known.”

Celiese did not respond immediately, since Thulyn’s remark had been meant as encouragement rather than a threat, and she knew the considerate woman had no idea how terrifying a prospect it truly was. “Yes, your son seems most kind.”

Thulyn sighed wistfully. “If only you had known him before the tragedy. His smile was as bright as the rising sun and his laughter never ceased. He can be that man again with your love, and that is why my husband pressed him so strongly to accept this marriage.” Hesitating, Thulyn realized she had revealed too much, “I mean—”

“I understand, Thulyn. Mylan told me himself he was not eager to wed, but I will do my very best to make him happy.” Celiese was overcome, with longing then, for Thulyn reminded her of her own dear mother. She wanted so desperately to be loved and protected once again, to be surrounded with the joy she’d once known rather than the endless fear and peril that forced her to use all her cunning simply to survive. She wished she were marrying a man she truly loved in a ceremony attended by her own family and friends, but she knew the beloved world of her parents was gone, ground to dust beneath the Vikings violent tread. The bride she should have been would never have come to Mylan Vandahl, and the danger in the path she’d chosen closed in upon her with a dread so deep she could not hide her shudder. Pretending she had grown chilled, she stood up, letting the warm water drip from her slender figure before stepping out of the tub to take the towel Thulyn offered. She dried off carefully before selecting the gown Raktor had told her to wear for the wedding. The glistening ivory silk was shot through with golden thread, so the garment shimmered with the seductive glow of moonlight as she turned. With her hair freshly brushed and styled she had never been more stunning, her beauty soft and appealing, like that of the pretty child she once had been. She scarcely needed the heavy gold jewelry Raktor had provided, but she slipped it on again and was ready to go.